[In the royal apartments, the Sons of Feanor are bent over a workbench on which a dramatic lighting assembly constructed of angled and movable reflectors positionable so as to obviate cast-shadow problems has been placed. Curufin has been busy for some while, and is showing off the results of his work to his elder brother.

Celegorm: [gesturing at the array of reflectors]

So you finally got that all figured out?

Curufin: [nods]

I thought it was rather daftly overdone, but once you get the hang of it, it really makes a tremendous difference in terms of enhancing the levels of relief.

Celegorm:

Are the different colored waxes just to help distinguish the separate design elements, or are you going to work them in different colors of metal as well?

Curufin:

Ye-es.

Celegorm:

Ah. Gold for the flames, silver for the leaves. --Very apt.

Curufin: [smiles]

Neat, eh? I thought so.

Celegorm:

I also approve the placement of the dual bands of flames around the inner single band of leaves. Very, ah, symmetrical.

[Curufin grins sleekly -- they are in perfect understanding]

Now, what do you think about . . .

[as they discuss design possibilities, Huan creeps in behind them and pads silently across the chamber in the deep shadows cast by the glare of the reflector. The other hounds look up at him, and respectfully put their heads down or return to gnawing.]

[Huan goes into the inner rooms and takes down the casket containing Luthien's cape in his jaws. He crushes it very slowly, but there is still some noise.]

Curufin:

What was that?

[The hounds on the hearth wag their tails and one of them makes a loud toothscrape-grinding noise of the spine-chilling sort.]

Celegorm:

Just the dogs chewing. --Could you fit a sunburst in the middle of mine, do you think? Or would that be too much?

[Huan lays down the shattered box from which CGI darkness is beginning to spill like ink in water, and paws it apart. As he stoops again to pick up the cloak, the light seems to dim slightly, as though twilight from outside were falling, though that is impossible. He pads out with it in his jaws, and as it trails past the other dogs lay their heads down and close their eyes, and the Sons of Feanor slide forward onto the worktable as though they'd been very tired for a very long time.]

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

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